


Mr Kowalski's Feeling for Snow

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Humor, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-05
Updated: 1999-05-05
Packaged: 2018-11-10 23:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11137149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: A post Call of the Wild story -- what happens to those boys after they  disappear over the horizon?





	Mr Kowalski's Feeling for Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

MR KOWALSKI'S FEELING FOR SNOW  


## MR KOWALSKI'S FEELING FOR SNOW

  
by Jane Symons  
janesymons@hotmail.com

 

Man, snow is a very big deal round here in Freezerland.  
First time I saw it, well first time I was dropped into it, nearly  
blew my  
mind. I was prepared for the snow, of course. I mean I  
know about snow but  
only city snow which is treated like it's something  
illegal and taken off  
the streets soon as you can say snow balls.  
Guess I wasn't prepared for the sheer volume and expanse of the  
stuff.  
Everywhere. Everywhere you look. Every damn thing white  
\- trees, sky,  
ground. Does strange things to your eyes. Sense  
of perspective's shot to  
hell. A man could go nuts over a touch  
of color.  
And snow shoes. The least said about snow shoes the better ....  
But this time, Fraser says, this time we're not treking nowhere  
til he gets  
me fit. Snow fit, not city fit. Says he's giving me  
a proper  
acclimatization programme, whatever the hell that is.  
He's borrowing a  
friend's cabin for the purpose. Nursery slopes,  
he says, we'll start you  
off on those. Nursery slopes. Listen,  
I'm too cool for nursery slopes.  
Too sexy for them. When you've  
climbed mountains, slept in hammocks and  
been stuck in fissures,  
you're way too cool for that kind of stuff.  
Fraser urges the dogs on faster. There's a clean satisfying  
sound as the  
sled cuts through the snow. Scenery is .... white.  
I close my eyes,  
blocking it out, burrowing down into the blanket,  
remembering how I couldn't  
hack the snow shoes, how I panicked on  
the ice field. How I would have died  
ten times over without Fraser.  
I may be cool and sexy in the city but out  
here I'm like a kid learning  
how to walk. That thing about the Hand of  
Franklin, that shit I  
said about wanting an adventure, that was hypothermia  
talking, was  
out of my mind, this is not a good idea. Maybe we should go  
back  
to the city. To noise and color and baseball and Chinese takeout.  
Then I feel the ring on my finger. This is going to be home  
from now on,  
Kowalski, so you'd better get used to it. Shape up,  
for fuck's sake.  
But I keep my eyes closed all the same and what with the motion  
of the sled  
and the huffing of the dogs and Fraser humming happily  
behind me, I must  
have dropped off to sleep for a while. Next thing  
I know, he's gently  
patting my arm.  
"Ray. We're here."  
Great, I'm thinking, that means civilisation and buildings and  
stuff like  
that and I open my eyes to discover the same endless  
sea of white.  
"Whaddya mean we're here?" I inquire, none too sweetly.  
That damn  
whiteness, it's like a never ending advert for washing  
powder. "Yer  
plannin' on buildin' us a quick igloo before  
nightfall or what?"  
"Oh ye of little faith," Fraser says obliquely.  
Drives me crazy when he's being oblique. "What is that?  
Ye of little  
faith," I mimic. "What is that?"  
Mountie points, a little to his right. "Look, Ray, there's  
the cabin,  
through those trees. See it?"  
I squint and I blink. Nothing helps. "I just see snow,  
Fraser, I see  
nothin' but snow. I can't even see the trees yer  
talkin' about."  
"Over there." He jabs his finger.  
I finally make out something that could be the back of a tiny  
building.  
It's mostly plastered in snow which is why it was easy  
to miss. I am not  
happy about it. "A cabin, Fraser? That's  
not a cabin, that's a closet.  
That is not a cabin."  
With great perception, he says, "Perhaps you were expecting  
something a  
little larger, Ray."  
I climb out of the sled, bunch the blanket up and throw it back  
on the  
seat. Feeling claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same  
time which is  
pretty damn uncomfortable. I'm angry and I'm hungry  
and I'm feeling spooked  
and I'm still wondering how I'm going to  
cut it here. I want to cut it. I  
really want to. For his sake.  
And for mine. I'm always making chin music  
over how I want a new  
life and a fresh start and they don't come much  
fresher than this.  
Fraser's letting Dief free, giving me anxious little  
sidelong glances.  
The wolf runs circles in the snow, loves the stuff.  
Always knew  
it was crazy.  
"Fraser, I'm not stupid. I was not expectin' a four star  
cabin with  
jacuzzi and gymnasium and swimmin' pool. But I was hopin'  
for somethin' big  
enough for me to be able to lie down and sleep,  
not stand up in all night  
long!"  
He looks over again in the direction of the closet. "Ray,  
you're not by  
any chance looking at the wood store, are you? The  
cabin is behind it."  
I look again. Sure enough, now I'm on my feet I can see the  
shape of a log  
cabin behind the store, more or less covered in snow  
but just discernible.  
It's like one of those cabins featured in  
cowboy films where folks are holed  
up for days shooting through  
the windows at hollering Indians circling round  
and round them.  
It's perfect. I feel really stupid. Maybe it's time I had  
my eyesight  
tested again. For poise, I kick the side of the sled. "Course  
I could see that. I knew that was there."  
If Fraser's thinking about the fact that I'm blind, he doesn't  
refer to it.  
"Let's get unpacked, Ray. It'll soon be dark  
and there's a lot to do."  
"Guess the street lighting round here is like inadequate."  
"You could say that." He reaches out and touches my  
cheek and looks hard  
into my eyes. "Ray, are you all right?"  
"I'm fine," I say and try to believe it. "Long  
as you're around, Frase,  
I'll be okay." Now that I do believe.  
To work off some nervous energy, I  
push him and he falls backwards  
into the snow. I leap on him and we wrestle  
like schoolkids for  
a while. Then he grabs my head between his hands,  
kissing me hard.  
One good thing about this place is no-one's around to  
arrest you.  
It's very liberating to kiss him in a lascivious fashion out in  
the open air.  
"Frase," I'm panting, when we stop for breath, "ever  
like done it in the  
snow?"  
He chuckles and pulls me to my feet, dusting snow off me like  
I'm three  
years old. "No, Ray, that could be a little dangerous.  
Certain parts of  
the anatomy might turn blue and drop off."  
"Ooooh." I wince.  
He slaps my ass. "Come on."  
We unpack the sled, lining everything up at the door. When we're  
done, it  
doesn't look like much but then Fraser said to travel light.  
He unlocks the  
cabin door, then eyes me up and down.  
"No, Frase," I say, "not that."  
"Why not?" he asks innocently.  
"You only do that with a woman. A man does not get carried  
over the  
threshold."  
Fraser scratches the area over his right eyebrow. "Well,  
how do you want  
me to get you over the threshold, Ray? Throw you  
over? Drag you over on  
your stomach?"  
Although these alternatives sound kind of interesting, I shake  
my head.  
"Frase, look, I have two appendages here and I dunno  
what you call 'em in  
Canada but in little ol' America, we call 'em  
legs. And at the end of my  
legs, I have feet. And if I put one  
in front of the other, like so, I walk  
over the threshold."  
"Understood," he says but I have the feeling he's a  
little disappointed.

***

We'd tied the knot in Fort Good Hope that morning.  
There are red ships and green ships but the best ships are partnerships.  
Weird looking native guy called Ninji performed the ceremony.  
Half the  
time didn't know what the fuck was going down. Plenty  
of weird stuff like  
burning oil, smoking sticks and incantations.  
Mountie was in his element.  
At one point, I leaned over to him and whispered, "What's  
that smell,  
Frase?"  
"It's whale blubber, melted down and mixed with - "  
He noticed the look on  
my face. "Never mind, Ray. Just carry  
on enjoying it."  
Actually I wasn't enjoying it. Smelt like a combination of rotting  
garbage  
and my dirty laundry basket on a hot summer day but I didn't  
want to spoil  
the mood. Had to be good medicine if it smelt that  
bad.  
Knew what was going on when Fraser took my hand and put a ring  
on my  
finger. Whale bone. Made it himself. What with the weirdness  
and the  
smell and the chanting, it was like I was having a particularly  
strange  
dream.  
But I didn't want to wake up.  
Ever.

***

Mountie's checking out the provisions. "M&Ms, pizza, pastrami,  
coffee,  
cookies. Ray, when you went shopping, did you actually  
buy any food?"  
"Whaddya mean? This is food."  
"I mean proper food. Muscle building food." He sighs.  
"Never mind, we  
can go out tomorrow for some elk."  
"Elk? Isn't that where elkohol comes from?"  
"That's very funny, Ray."  
I'm mesmerised by the sight of the whale bone ring on his finger,  
remembering how I put it there. I'm not thinking straight. "There's  
some  
place round here we can pick up elk meat?"  
He's tut-tutting prudishly over a packet of chocolate jello I  
sneaked in at  
the last moment. "Mmm-hmm. On the nearest elk."  
I suddenly realise what he's talking about. "Yer mean like  
bang bang it's  
dead?"  
"That's the ticket, Ray."  
"But elks look like deer, don't they?"  
"Yes, I suppose there is a similarity."  
I'm horrified. "I'm not gonna eat anythin' that looks like  
a deer. I've  
seen 'Bambi', Frase, seen it four times."  
He's looking at me like I've grown antlers or something. "What  
difference  
does that make, Ray? Do you mean to say that if Walt  
Disney had made a film  
about a cow, you wouldn't eat pastrami?"  
"Cows have nothing to do with pastrami," I say emphatically.  
"Of course they do. Pastrami is made from beef."  
"Isn't."  
"It is."  
I shake my head at him, pitying him for his ignorance. "You  
mean to tell  
me, you've never heard of the Pastrami?"  
"The Pastrami?"  
"I guess this isn't widely known in Canada but the Pastrami  
is a very shy  
animal, living quietly in the Italian alps and probably  
no-one would ever  
get to see it, only it's very fond of opera and  
it comes down from the hills  
for the opera season at Verona. That's  
when it gets caught. Pastrami  
hunters lie in wait for it in the  
orchestra pit."  
Fraser shakes his head like he's got water in his ears. Looks  
like he's  
not sure whether to laugh or cry. "I'm going to  
start up the generator," he  
says, taking refuge in practicalities.  
Panic gets hold of me. A generator! The only thing between  
us and  
darkness. I suddenly feel appalled at the thin line dividing  
us between  
civilisation and chaos. The feeling comes back, that  
feeling of dangling  
hundreds of feet above the snow in a hammock.  
A generator! Jesus, I need  
to keep busy, take my mind off this  
kind of stuff. This is no time, Ray  
Kowalski, to get philosophical.  
"What can I do, Frase? Gimme somethin' to  
do."  
He's obviously impressed by my industrious attitude. "Well,  
you could cut  
up some logs for the wood stove."  
"Right. Logs. I can do that."  
Before he goes out the back door, the Mountie shakes his head  
at me and  
mutters, "The Pastrami."

***

Working up a nice sweat cutting up logs. Used to watch the Waltons  
so I  
know how to cut up logs. Whistle while you work. It's a Walt  
Disney kind  
of day. If I whistle, I don't have to take any notice  
of the fact that it's  
quiet as hell round here.  
Living in a city, there's constant noise, even if it's just the  
background  
sounds of traffic or the neighbour's television. Out  
here, snow muffles  
what little sounds there are. It's so damn quiet.  
Quieter even than a  
public library. Or maybe even the grave. Who  
knows? Quiet and white.  
White and quiet. I'm going to go nuts.  
I really am.  
Guess I was too busy either chasing Muldoon, worrying over whether  
I was  
going to lose Fraser or fighting hypothermia to notice it  
before.  
I slam the axe down hard onto another log. Maybe I could take  
my mind off  
how quiet it is if I pretend the next log is Ray Vecchio's  
neck. Man, I  
hate the creep. Mr I'm A Slick Dresser Vecchio.  
Mr Organise Your Mess Some  
Place Else Vecchio. I'm not normally  
a violent person. I'm not normally a  
violent person. I repeat  
myself when under stress.  
I arrange the next log for cutting. I don't hate Vecchio because  
he took  
Stella away. I hate him because he took Stella away. It's  
not like I'm  
still in love with her or anything but I'd just prefer  
her to be with anyone  
else rather than him. Even that Alderman  
creep with his spins and his x  
equals y. Even him.  
But mostly I hate Vecchio because he's had his filthy Italian  
paws on my  
Fraser. Because he calls him Benny. Because he's had  
two years with Fraser  
that I can never get back off him, however  
hard I kick him in the head.  
Time that Fraser's shared with the  
creep, fucked with him, slept and eaten  
with him. Time I don't  
want to think about. I sink the axe into the log  
and split it in  
two satisfying halves.  
I know it's unreasonable to feel this way 'cause Fraser's all  
mine now and  
sharing time with me. But I feel this way all the  
same. I'm an  
unreasonable person. It's one of my best features.  
There's an almighty thumping sound behind me. Could've been  
a charging  
bear or one of Fraser's Grissly Adams type ex-school  
buddies or something  
but it's only a load of snow falling off a  
tree. For some reason, the  
quietness that follows this is worse  
than the quietness that came before it.  
Suddenly I'm feeling vulnerable.  
All alone out in the snow and the quiet.  
That's it. I've had  
it. I drop the axe, narrowly missing my foot.  
"Fras-er!" I'm running over to the cabin. What if  
he's not there? What  
if he's been abducted by aliens or got tired  
of my jokes and left me out  
here to die? "Fras-er! Where  
are you?"  
"Ray!" He appears from behind the cabin. "What's  
happened?"  
I reach him breathless and shaking. Suddenly I don't know what  
to say.  
"It's so quiet," I admit finally.  
Anyone else, they'd have me committed. Fraser, he just nods.  
He knows.  
He understands this is going to be hard for me. Gave  
me a long talk on how  
it'll be okay long as I keep telling him how  
I feel. So I'm telling him.  
"It's so quiet," I'm explaining.  
"It's so damn quiet." Well, I think that  
just about covers  
it.  
He puts his arm round my shoulder and walks with me back to the  
wood store.  
"In the city, Ray, all the noise and activity  
around you constantly draws  
the attention outwards so that you lose  
touch with yourself. Try not to  
fight the quietness here. I know  
it's going to feel strange at first, but  
allow it to draw your attention  
inwards. To your higher self."  
I'm puzzled. "Higher self? I wasn't aware that I came  
in two sizes."  
"Oh dear," Mountie murmers under his breath. Guess  
I'm missing the point  
yet again. "Perhaps it would be easier  
if you just bear in mind the words  
of E.M. Forster. 'Only connect.'  
Don't fight it, try to connect with it."  
"Okay, I see, this I get. I can go with this. Connecting."  
I leer at  
him. "I really dig the way we connect."  
I can see he's determined to finish this little lecture with  
a straight  
face. "I'm referring to connecting with nature,  
Ray. Connecting with the  
stillness around you. Don't let it intimidate  
you. Let it be your friend."  
"My friend." I wonder where the hell he gets this  
stuff. "Right. I'll  
try that, Frase. The stillness is my  
friend."  
"Good. That's the ticket, Ray. I'll be in the cabin, fixing  
the stove so  
that we have some hot water." He pats my shoulder  
encouragingly and strolls  
off.  
I walk back to the wood store.  
How the fuck do you make friends with stillness?

***

There's nothing even remotely feminine about Fraser and yet he  
has this  
Mary Poppins thing my mom has where he can transform a  
place into home  
within about five minutes flat.  
By the time I've finished cutting up the logs, he's got the stove  
going,  
made up a bed in front of it, laid the old pine table for  
two and now he's  
making soup. On top of all these domestic details,  
there's a delicious  
smell of cooking pizza in the air. Dief's dining  
first, noisy and  
enthusiastic, chasing the bowl round in a large  
circle.  
Though there's electric lighting in the place, Fraser's kept  
it low,  
subdued. He's arranged candles in strategic places round  
the room. A  
radio's playing softly, probably in deference to my  
discomfort with the  
quietness. Snow's easier to deal with when  
you're looking out at it from a  
cosy cabin. Looks pretty, too.  
Now that it's getting dark, snow's taken on  
a sort of blue tinge.  
Strikes me how, acclimatization programmes apart,  
this is probably  
one of the most romantic ways of spending a honeymoon there  
is.  
Fraser glances over his shoulder at me and smiles. He's stripped  
down to  
jeans and t-shirt and looks like the most delicious item  
on tonight's menu.  
I slip my arms round his waist, kiss the back  
of his neck and rest my chin  
on his shoulder, watching him cook.  
Stella, she hated when I did this.  
Said I got in the way. Fraser  
seems to like it, he gives me a running  
commentary on the origin,  
ingredients and calorific content of the soup. By  
the time he's  
finished, I feel like I know the soup really well, like my  
stomach's  
all ready to say hello to it.  
Table's big enough for six sumo wrestlers but we sit together  
like space is  
out of fashion. I can barely keep my hands off Fraser.  
Restrain myself  
while we're drinking soup but the sight of him shoving  
pizza into his mouth,  
leaving a tantalising layer of grease on his  
lips, is way too much for me.  
I cut a chunk of pizza and feed it  
to him suggestively. Watch him hungrily  
while he takes it all into  
his mouth with an indulgent grin. Then I make a  
show of licking  
each of my fingers clean, enjoying the way his eyes darken  
with  
lust. He feeds me pizza in return, then holds out his fingers for me  
to suck. I make the most of it, taking each one into my mouth far  
as I can  
without swallowing his entire hand and suck hard, running  
my tongue up and  
down the length in a disgustingly lewd way. By  
the time I've finished,  
neither of us can keep still in our chairs.  
Fraser grabs hold of me, heaving me over to the mattress he prepared  
with  
such commendable foresight. He's not exactly rough with me  
but he's lost  
that Canadian politesse thing somewhere along the  
way. I really dig getting  
him all steamed up so he's not sure whether  
he's on his head or his toes.  
Mountie's all over me like a rash. A very horny, sexy rash that  
appears to  
be having trouble breathing. He kisses me, hard and  
deep and greasy. He  
has me naked faster than a stripper at closing  
time. I make an attempt to  
tear the clothes off his back but he  
bats my hands away. Wants to be in  
control. That's cool with me.  
I can go with that. I don't have a problem  
with it, not like some.  
From what I can gather, Mr Style Pig Vecchio had a  
macho thing,  
always needed to do the driving. Me, I'm happy in the back  
seat,  
the ride's terrific from there.  
"Jesus!" Fraser clamps his teeth round my left nipple  
like a deranged  
limpet, while he's tickling my balls with his fingers.  
My nervous system  
derails itself, unable to cope with mind blowing  
pleasure coming from two  
directions at once. I can feel the sweat  
on my skin already, stove's  
pumping out heat all down the side of  
my body. I'm moaning and groaning and  
running my hands through  
his soft black hair.  
It's all change and we're on the right nipple. His fingers stray  
from my  
throbbing balls and begin to probe delicately at my asshole.  
Okay so I'm a  
slut but it's impossible not to push down on them  
and impale myself. He  
gets the message, pushing two strong fingers  
inside me far as they'll go. I  
arch my back up into the movement  
and start grinding and pleasuring myself,  
stirring my insides with  
his digits, fucking myself with them.  
"Jesus, oh Jesus," I'm wailing, "that is good,  
that is so good."  
He pulls off my nipple with a lecherous kind of sucking sound,  
looking up  
into my eyes. He's flushed with excitement, hair ruffled,  
lips swollen and  
bruised with sucking. No-one at the 27th precinct  
would even recognise him  
and that thought gives me such a kick.  
I watch him in wonder, knowing he's  
mine now, body and soul.  
"Ray," he's panting, "you're the sexiest, wildest  
lover in the world."  
Something of an overstatement from a  
man who's only had a couple of affairs  
during his lifetime but if  
that's what he says, he means it and I'm happy.  
Can't speak, can't think, I'm rotating my hips frantically now,  
grimacing  
with pleasure and I can feel my balls pounding. Mountie  
sees I'm close,  
takes pity on me and ducks down, swallowing me whole.  
I'm in bliss. Hot  
wet heat on my cock, asshole stretched and filled  
behind. Whether I thrust  
my hips forward or back, can't lose.  
I do both and go right out of my head.  
I'm screaming his name,  
working out my passion over his fingers, pumping  
his beautiful mouth  
full of spunk. He drinks it all down til I'm dry and  
trembling  
and boneless.  
I've almost blacked out with the pleasure. When I start coming  
round, I  
find him kneeling, thighs either side of my head, his hot  
dick pressing  
against my lips. Really butters my muffins when he's  
like this. Constable  
It Only Takes An Extra Minute To Be Courteous  
Fraser is dying for it, can't  
wait, knocking at the door so to speak.  
He fixes the pillows under my head  
so I don't even have to strain  
my neck while I eat him. Fraser thinks of  
damn near everything.  
All I have to do is open my mouth.  
He pumps me hard. I relax the back of my throat and open right  
up for him.  
Taken a long time to persuade him that if there's  
one thing I like in this  
world, it's being fucked hard, in either  
orifice. He's got the hang of it  
now, not so squeamish about it  
as he used to be. I run my tongue up and  
down his length and suck  
hard as I can while he thrusts into me, making my  
eyes water and  
my heart pound in my chest. It's so damn good I reckon I've  
died  
and gone to heaven. We maintain eye contact long as we can, says it  
thrills him to watch me taking it. Then I do my thing with the  
teeth, just  
using them to scrape over the skin of his cock and he  
loses it, screaming  
out, I count three-four-five hot spurts of cum  
down my throat and swallow it  
greedily. I drink him down into the  
depths of my soul, every bit of him  
mine now, no-one can claim him  
back anymore... I surprise myself with my own  
passion. I suck on  
him until he starts to protest and only then do I let  
him go.  
Mountie slides down my body, gasping for breath, and we hold  
onto each  
other like a hurricane just zipped through the place and  
we're wondering  
what hit us. Dief huffs from the corner of the  
cabin as if he's thoroughly  
disgusted with the whole damn show.  
Better get used to it, wolf, 'cause  
tonight there'll be nothing  
much else happening if I have my way.  
I wait til the blood's back circulating round my brain again  
and I reach  
over for my jacket where it landed on the floor.  
"What is it, Ray?" He's post coital, deliciously out  
of it.  
"Somethin' for yer," I say awkwardly. I'd practised  
a moving little speech  
over and over in my head but right now it  
won't budge. Looking into his  
beautiful eyes, I'm lost for the  
right thing to say. "Yer made the rings  
for us. I wanted  
to make somethin' for the occasion too." I thrust it into  
his hands. He props himself up on one elbow.  
"You made this for us?" He's staring down at it like  
he can't believe it.  
Frankly, neither can I. If someone had told me I'd fall in love  
with a  
Mountie and sit up late making a dreamcatcher for him, I'd  
have suggested  
they go pass a bullet through their brain. I've  
never made anybody  
anything. Well, nothing except a lot of trouble  
for my mother. Fraser's  
unnerving me a little, just staring and  
turning it round and round in his  
hands.  
"I know it's probably not authenic or anythin' but I got  
it close as I  
could." Maybe I made it so badly, he can't figure  
out what it is.  
"It's - it's - " Sounds like he's choking. Wonder  
if he's trying hard not  
to laugh. "Perfect."  
And then the impossible happens. I see a tear falling down his  
cheek.  
Followed by another. Jesus Christ. Holy shit. Mountie's  
crying. It's  
impossible. It's like Darryl Hannah going into holy  
orders, like NASA  
announcing the moon's made of cheese. It just  
doesn't happen.  
"Frase." I take him into my arms, hug him hard. He's  
sobbing but you'd  
hardly know, he's trying to control himself.  
"I love you," I whisper.  
Stuff from the past makes this  
so hard to say but just because it's  
difficult, doesn't mean I don't  
mean it. And something tells me it would be  
good for him to let  
go, just for once in his life, and wail like a baby and  
know it's  
okay to do so.  
He breaks right down at this. He's sobbing out something that  
sounds close  
enough to "I love you" to make my heart sing.  
He has as much trouble with  
the words as I do, we've both been abandoned,  
one way or another. It's not  
like he has to say them for me to  
know, but they're music all the same.  
I hug him hard and stroke his back.  
I make two immediate resolutions. The first is that if it means  
this much  
to him, I'll make more stuff for my Mountie in future.  
The second is even if it kills me, I'll get to love the snow.  
Outside, a slight breeze picks up and passes over the cabin like  
a happy  
sigh.

 


End file.
